“Bardo to Tate.” Nameless’s voice jolts me out of my reverie.
Francis is sitting there all smug as if he knows exactly where my mind went. Caleb, pad and paper in hand, looks as if my answer could contribute to world peace. Bob looks completely uninterested, which tells me his curiosity level hit overdrive.
“Spanking?” Nothing about Nameless looks encouraging. His gaze is predatory as if an admission of interest will deliver me into his hands. Not a chance.
“It’s not something that’s on my radar. Let me guess, it’s one of your favorite activities.” Not my friendliest tone, I’ll admit, but this Nameless is getting on my last nerve. And no way am I going to admit to them that I got damned hot during the spanking workshop Bob and I took in Seattle at the BDSM for Couples conference Mick talked us into attending.
Nameless’s eyes are heavy with lust. “I prefer to spank. A leather strap is my toy of choice, and I’d like nothing better than to haul your ass across my lap and spank your bottom until it’s bright red and you’re begging me to stop.”
The heat behind those tawny-brown eyes draws me in. Now he’s got my curiosity. “Is that so? Does that make you a sadist? Because I’m not a masochist, I know that for sure.” That may not have been my most professional tone, but I’m working on it.
“I’ll second that,” Bob says. “She’s not a pain junkie, and she’s too much of a control freak to submit to a spanking.”
A small devil-may-care smirk plays over Nameless’s face. He looks directly into my eyes. “That remains to be seen. And to answer your question, no, I’m not purely a sadist.”
“Then, what are you, exactly?” Anything to steer the conversation away from me.
“I’m a switch, exactly, which means I enjoy being both dominant and submissive,” Nameless says. “And in the interest of moving this session along, Caleb here is also a switch, and Francis and Bob are Doms, although Bob has yet to fully embrace his role.”
“I doubt that.” The laugh falls out of me before I can hold it back. I look at Bob and mouth, “Sorry.” He shrugs and throws me a warm smile. “You’ll learn fast there are no secrets between us, clan rules.”
Gods, I need time with Bob. Not just to make up for lost time, but so I can get answers to the million questions I have.
“What makes you think Robert is a submissive?” Francis asks.
“I don’t think he’s a submissive. I said he’s not a Dom.” I shoot a missed-the-mark-that-time look.
“How do you define dominant?” Francis asks.
“Someone who likes to own other people and boss them around and punish them and stuff like that. A submissive is someone who likes all that shit. Then there’s the fricking power exchange. That isn’t him, and it sure as hell isn’t me. And while we’re on the subject, not everyone is into kink, you know. Some of us are more than happy with everyday loving sex.” Maybe not my most articulate answer, but it got the point across. Visions of the cute blond who led the Fifties Power Exchange slave sessions at that BDSM conference spring to mind. There isn’t a chance in hell I’d let someone control my life twenty-four-seven.
“Famous last words from someone in denial,” Nameless says.
Caleb clears his throat. “Let’s get back on track, but before we do, let’s clear up a couple of definitions. A dominant does not like to own people.”
My eyebrows must have disagreed because Caleb rushes on to say, “Hear me out. That’s the kind of thing people say when they know little to nothing about the kink world. On Earth, sexual ignorance is bliss and encouraged by the moral majority. It’s one of the reasons the academy is so damned busy. Here in Bardo, sexual ignorance is a sin.”
“Perhaps we should get back to the point,” Francis reflects.
“Yeah, right. Where was I?” Caleb asks.
“Definitions,” Bob says.
I try not to stare at the muscles rippling beneath Caleb’s shirt as he rolls his massive shoulders. “Right. Although it’s true that one person submits to the other in the pursuit of erotic pleasure or personal fulfillment, a dominant is simply anyone who prefers to take the superior position. It has nothing to do with slavery. Slavery—”
“Another topic for another lesson,” Bob inserts, his quiet way of keeping things on track.
“Agreed,” Francis says.
“I just don’t get it.” Wisps of disapproval flicker as the emotional energy in the room changes, so I rush on. “I’m not judgmental, truly I’m not. I just don’t understand why anyone would waste time worrying about things like who’s superior and who’s inferior.”
“Subordinate. At least get it right,” Nameless says.
“Pardon me?” My hackles jump to attention.
“The correct term for a submissive’s position is subordinate, not inferior,” Nameless says. And speaking of judgmental.
“Hardly anyone does get it when they arrive. That’s why we have the orientation process,” Caleb says. He checks his pad. “Would you prefer to gag Bob or have Bob gag you?”
“Neither. Not one little thing about having drool run down our chins even remotely turns me on. No gags. Ick.”
“I’ll put that down as a hard limit,” Caleb says.
“Only if it’s true,” Nameless says.
“Truth,” Francis says.
“What’s a hard limit?” I mouth to Bob.
“A hard limit is any sexual or other activity you refuse to try. If it’s something you don’t think you’d like but are willing to try, then it’s called a soft limit.” Bob winks and settles back in his chair. He knows exactly what’s coming next.
“Let me save you all a lot of time. My hard limits involve anything to do with pain or the release of bodily fluids.”
“So, no spanking even though it can be extremely pleasurable and enhance the erotic experience?” Nameless asks.
“That kind of thing only happens in romance novels. In real life, physical blows to the body cause pain,” I say.
“If we can prove otherwise, would you be willing to give it a try?” Francis asks.
If it were you, maybe. “No. Not interested.” I refuse to think about the spanking workshop. Bob and I had both been very excited during the flogging demonstration, and that had led to some very hot, albeit quiet, sex what with Mick camping out in the next room. Manners. My cheeks heat as the memory flashes through my mind.
The red circling France’s ethereal irises flashes as his gaze latches onto mine and sucks me in. My damned traitorous mind gives me away because, truth be told, I do like the idea of spanking. I got soaking wet whenever I read about it in my favorite romance novels. But the idea was ludicrous in real life. “Fantasy is not reality. Next question.”
“In Bardo, prevarication is the same as telling an untruth and in this case will get you the very spanking you are trying so hard to avoid,” Francis says. I might be getting used to his formal speech, but I’d never get used to having him inside my head.
“Prevarication. Can’t you ever say something simple like skirting the truth?” The bitchiness drips out of my tone.
“Oh, oh,” Bob says. “She’s getting snarky. That’s not a good sign. Maybe we should break soon. How many questions left?”
Caleb refers to his pad. “Three.”
“Right. Let’s power through them and break until dinner.” Bob looks at each of us, and each nods in turn.
“This one’s easy. Do you prefer to get on top during sex or have Bob on top?” Caleb grins just as he has with each question. He hangs off every word, making me believe there’s no wrong answer.
“You’re right, that one’s easy. I like both equally.” I’m tempted to mentally let my inner brat go, but I settle for a defiant chin thrust. Let Francis or Nameless take issue with that.
I try to snatch back the thought before I have it. Too late. Francis’s penetrating gaze gives a split second of warning. “Tell us about the last time you were on top?”
This time, I’m pretty sure the color h
its my cheeks because of the inferno that races from my pinkish parts to the rest of my body, bringing realization along with the heat. I’m a smart woman with synaptic activity in full throttle, and I start to get what I’ve previously ignored—I am curious about all those things I’ve only read about in books or seen in those movies. Mick and I had seen them so many times we called them our fifty-times movies.
“Okay, I get where you’re coming from. We don’t need the graphic details. I prefer Bob on top,” I choke out.
“We’d love to hear the graphic details,” Caleb says.
I bet you would.
“You can be certain Hades will be eager to hear about your sexual encounters in exacting detail,” Francis says. “You must answer these questions truthfully, Tate. Hades and the Tribunal will accept nothing less. We have just over twenty-four hours to get you ready. Now, do you find more pleasure being on top if Robert orders you to be there?”
“Bob doesn’t order me to do anything,” I say defensively.
“Oh yeah, we forgot, the proverbial retrosexual couple,” Nameless says.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you were a traditional couple who had traditional vanilla sex. You didn’t have the courage to step outside the norm and explore your true natures. By the sounds of it, you didn’t even dip your toe in the water.” Nameless’s smile makes me want to give him a swift one to the balls.
“That’s enough, Nameless. This isn’t personal,” he says.
“It’s all personal,” Nameless spits back.
I look between them. Bob is getting pissed, and when my guy morphs into alpha hero mode, it isn’t pretty. Cue the GIFs of actors eating popcorn and get set for the fireworks.
Caleb bounces to his feet. “Well, who knew such a simple question could cause such discussion. We’ll table that for another discussion. Sub for that one, right?” He looks at Francis.
Francis nods.
Sub my ass. I feel Francis’s smile. Bastard.
“Moving right along,” Caleb says. “How about hair pulling?”
“Out of the question,” I say. “No pain, remember?”
“Except you do love it when I grab your hair and pull your head back to nuzzle your neck,” Bob says.
Oh, gods, I do love it when he does that, but does the whole world need to know our business? He’s oblivious as I shoot him a look.
“No secrets in the clan, sprite,” Bob says. “If I had to go through this, so can you.” He gives me the grin.
“Last question. Do you like to use sex toys on your partner or prefer him to use them on you?” Caleb asks.
“Assuming my sex partner is male,” I tease.
“You’re right, my bad.” Caleb really is one of the hardest guys to ruffle. “So, male or female, which?”
“I don’t have the urge to do either,” I say.
“Have you ever used sex toys?” Francis asks.
I’m pretty sure couple sex therapy wouldn’t be this intrusive. “No, I haven’t.” I pray Bob doesn’t ask about the vibrator.
“Did you find the clit stimulator I bought you?” Yup, that’s my Bob, right on cue.
I look down at my lap. “Yes, but I couldn’t use it.”
“Why not?” Bob sounds genuinely puzzled. “Did you get my card?”
“Telling me to use the thing until you came back to me? Yes, I got it.” Now shut the fuck up. I mentally cross my fingers.
“And?” That oh-so-familiar expectant look comes over his face.
“Can we talk about this privately?” I hiss.
“Get used to it, babe,” Nameless says. You’d tell us sooner or later. But you meet the Tribunal tomorrow.”
“We will break now to give us time to tally the results of this interview. Let us reconvene in one hour in the dining room.” Francis rises and shoots his sleeves. And just like that, my body feels like a bomb that needs to go off. His heated gaze is the match that lights the fuse. My eyes run up and down his lean, muscular frame, perfectly formed like an ice sculpture. Just how could so much cold generate so much heat?
You know how, Gianna. I am going quite mad.
“Tally? You’ve got to be kidding. She’s a submissive, no question,” Nameless says. “All that remains is her appetite and kink meter.”
As interesting as it might be to sit and listen to these guys slice and dice my sex life, I have one mission. Anyone who gets in my way is collateral damage. I grab Bob’s hand and march out the door.
Tate damned near drags me down the hall to her room. We’re barely on the other side of the closing door before she starts ripping at my clothes. She doesn’t say a word, just slides her small warm hands under my sweater, and strokes my chest. Normally, I’d take a step back right about now. I was never one for impulse sex. Plan the sex and sex the plan, that’s me. My planner personality was something that drove Tate bat-shit as she so charmingly put it.
When I’d ascended to Bardo, the Tribunal had interrogated me about my lives, past and present. As was the normal course of events, every soul, human and non-human, met with the Tribunal to review their progress completing the eight phases of love necessary for ascension into Nirvana. All souls must successfully complete all, the eighth being the most difficult—Eros, love of the body. As penance for denying my natural urges on earth, the gods made me part of the examiner clan. Aphrodite took a personal interest in “helping” me unveil my kink tendencies, but I’d blown her off. The only person I had any interest in exploring with was Tate, and the gods had assured me we’d meet again if we were destined mates. They assured me, as they assure everyone else, that all would be made clear in time.
Now, the gift of Tate has dropped into my lap a lot sooner than expected, sexy as ever and horny as hell. I’m not going to waste one more minute of my existence worrying about the right time and place. If I could spend eternity with my cock buried in Tate’s loving embrace, I’d be the happiest man in Nirvana. I shiver as her breath tickles my neck, and I let my desire tell my practicality to go to hell. Buttons scatter as I rip her blouse open and expose her magnificent breasts. Tate sighs as I latch on to her lips, small hands fumbling open my belt, pants, and zipper. She grabs my package with one hand, squeezing my balls none to gently as she marches me backward. I keep my lips glued to hers as we cross the room, and she pushes me into a large armchair.
My cock goes from rock to diamond hard as Tate sheds the remnants of her blouse and pants leaving nothing but a flimsy piece of silk lingerie that reminds me of knickers. Tate licks her lips as my cock twitches, precum already leaking from the tip. Seconds later, I’m buried balls deep in her wet cunt. As she straddles me, the lace edges of her knickers tickle my balls. Her low groan pulls my focus to her eyes, my mind and body seem to link with hers like that Vulcan mind meld Spock could do. And then, it’s as if the final tumbler falls in place, unlocking our inhibitions.
Tate grabs my hands and pins them beside my head. She leans forward, letting her hard nipples brush against my chest with each thrust. With each slide forward, she lifts, rubbing her clit against my pelvis before dropping down, fucking me hard. I let her body speak to me, and right now, it tells me to keep still, that this is Tate coming to terms with all the questions she’s been asked. This is Tate trying to prove she’s not a submissive. As if a submissive is any less strong than a dominant.
Desire bolts through me as Tate slams her sweet ass on my cock. I bite my lip to hold back the tingling, tightening urge to let go and blast my load. Not yet. Not yet. Because I know my Tate—I’m holding off until she feels ready to release control, to submit, and we’ll come undone together. I want to see her experience unimaginable joy once she understands that submission does not lessen her in any way. So I wait . . . and watch. Until the sparks firing in her eyes settle into flame. Her grip loosens a fraction, giving me the cue I need. I rip my hands free and grab her hips, stilling her panting body for a moment. Giving my dick time to push back the flood. Tate sighs and lies against my chest, ready for
me to thrust her into the stratosphere. Instead, I slide a hand up her round stomach, cup the swell of her breast, and draw a hot nipple into my mouth. She arches and moans, making my cock throb. I stifle a groan of my own because I don’t want anything to get in the way of me hearing every tiny sound of her pleasure. Her cunt clenches around my cock, and she wiggles her ass on my lap, begging for more. I keep her pinned while I nip and suck nipples that are truly a gift from the gods.
When she pants and pleas amid her moans, I slide my hand from her breast to the nub of her clit. Only my hand on her hip keeps her from writhing off my lap.
“Shhh. Easy, sprite.” I tighten my grip on her hip, and she moans again as she drops her forehead to meet mine, giving herself and her trust fully to me. Her moans turn to small sounds with each intake of breath, like screams turned inward. Each sound sends a thrill of electricity through my cock, bringing almost unbearable pleasure. I keep a steady friction with my finger as I guide her hips with a matching rhythm. Our breaths mingle as I feel the heat of her watching my cock drilling between her legs. I keep a firm hold on her hips as her climax builds, so I’m ready for that moment . . . a second of stillness before she almost dislodges herself during the onslaught of possibly, hopefully the most explosive orgasm she’s ever had. And I don’t think I’m wrong. The tight contractions of her cunt pull me into her explosion, and I come apart with the force of it.
Tate collapses on my chest, boneless, spent, and I wrap my arms around her back. We sit with sweaty bodies glued together, panting for breath, unable and unwilling to separate. I could stay like this for eternity, feeling nothing but the joy of this woman, but where I’m hampered by my need to plan, Tate can’t escape her need to fulfill the duties of her job.
“How much time do we have?” she asks.
I groan as my mind drops back to reality. “A half hour or so.”
She pushes off my chest and looks down at me. “Life would be a lot easier if you guys used clocks. Your go-with-the-flow must be in seventh heaven.” She grins in delight at her bad joke.
Tate's Tale Page 13
